


a song from the future

by suisei (nanakomatsus)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanakomatsus/pseuds/suisei
Summary: it's the small things, after allor, hinata and life's volleyball
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	a song from the future

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in a flurry of emotion. consider this a thank you fic for the series that has helped me throughout my life and will continue to do so.

> 1\. The milk from the vending machine isn’t as bad as he thought it’d be. 

Not that he has anything against milk. The packaging isn’t particularly suspicious either. He just never felt the want to try it. Especially not at Kageyama’s recommendation. He doesn’t trust anything coming from the guy who drinks vegetables blended with protein powder. 

But upon losing in a three-on-three that day and having to cash _some_ out of the wallet Natsu gave him to wipe that irritating smirk off Kageyama’s face, he figured maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it once.

He’d be damned however, were he to admit it aloud. So he turns his nose up when the setter raises a brow, _so how is it? Hm, not bad,_ he says, feigning nonchalance and tosses the empty box into the bin. He spends the rest of practice thinking of how he should maybe stock up on some.

> 2\. It was both the best and worst meal he’d ever had in his life. 

There was still that discomfort in his stomach, the chill in his bones and the mind-numbing headache. But that was probably what made the food taste so good. That, and maybe he’d just been hungry. After all, he’d had a light lunch.

The door slides open just as he downs his soup. And one by one, familiar faces begin popping out from behind the screen with warm, warm smiles. Daichi pushes the bottle of green tea gently towards him.

“Are ya hanging in there all right, little guy?” Tanaka asks with a grin. He nods, putting his all into it and stuffing himself proper with more rice to make a point. They laugh and flash him a few thumbs up. The sound of wood on wood is uncomfortably loud as the door shuts close. That was probably the worst part. Aside from the fact that it had grown silent outside as well.

The mackerel is suddenly a tad bit salty. He takes a ball of rice. That’s salty too. _Huh, it’s- it’s all salty-_

 _Oh._

He crawls over to the drink and finds that it has already been opened. Something in his chest clenches. He takes a sip. And takes another before he’s downed the whole thing. 

He hopes he’ll never taste salty tea again.

> 3\. The cherry blossoms that grow around school are white.

They are in full bloom. It reminds him of his first day of school, a little less than a year before. _It is funny,_ Tsukishima had said a week ago, when it was their turn to lock up the gym, _spring is so contradictory._

He perked up at that. “What do you mean?”

The blonde hesitates, no doubt cursing himself for having let his thoughts slip out like that. No turning back now. Hinata can wait for a reply. Surprisingly, it comes sooner than he’d expected.

“Spring is like, the season of new beginnings right?” Tsukishima begins, choosing his words carefully, simplifying it for his fellow middle blocker, probably. Hinata hums.

“But the third years graduate in the spring too.” And he ends it at that. Hinata doesn’t need to press him further. Doesn’t want to. He knows that this is as close to a touching moment as he’ll ever get with his teammate.

“But isn’t that a new beginning for them?” He can’t help himself. He smiles at Tsukishima across the gym. The taller ducks his head, keeping to his task of folding the net.

“I guess,” is his mumbled response.

Today, it is a day of goodbyes. But it isn’t a sad one. Hinata refuses to feel sad. Not when his seniors are smiling so brightly, waving at the rest of them as they step out of the school gates for the last time. He shouts his thanks at the top of his lungs, bowing deeply and when he rises, he’s smiling too.

> 4\. Yachi’s handwriting is pretty.

She turns as pink as her highlighter when he voices the sentiment to her mother. “Yes, I guess I taught her rather well,” Mrs. Yachi says, suppressing a triumphant grin, eyeing her daughter as she sets down snacks for the group.

“That was so embarrassing,” she says, burying her head on the table. Hinata fixes her a puzzled look. “Why? It’s true.” She glows as bright as the magma in the documentary they’re watching.

“You’re noisy,” Tsukishima utters distastefully, side-eyeing Kageyama over Yachi’s wilted form. The setter glares at him, popping a chip in his mouth and chewing. Yamaguchi seems to be the only one taking any notes.

Hinata would remember Yachi’s penmanship throughout the entirety of high school. It is emblazoned into his memory, floating into his mind as he conjures up the facts in his exams. It is the writing he sees when he reads through an analysis guide of the opposing team, one that he studies more fervently than anything else.

It is her writing that flashes through his mind when he sees the opposing setter’s quirk of tilting his head ever so slightly, then remembering that it means a quick is coming.

He reacts in time. The balls slams down onto the other side of the court in a complete shut-out.

> 5\. The club room is feeling a little stuffy these days.

Ennoshita’s observation would be the beginning of a lot of preparation for a spring cleaning session. Granted, it was still winter.

First, they clear the ancient shelves. There are boxes that look like they haven’t been opened for decades. They let out a disappointed sigh upon finding nothing but old reports and financial statements from five years back and chuck them into the trash pile.

The mats are scrubbed and hung out to dry. When they are laid back onto the floor, they are several shades lighter, looking almost brand new.

“Tadashi, you look a little sick,” Yachi says, her voice tinted with concern. Yamaguchi swallows. “No, I’m just thinking about how much of that was sweat and dirt and…” He looks right about to throw up. So does their manager.

“It’s like, yellow,” Ennoshita states flatly. Nishinoya and Tanaka stand their ground, growling at him, arms spread out protectively.

“You will not desecrate the goddesses’ shrine!” Their libero howls. “Micchan will be sad!” Tanaka wails, looking very much like a deranged widow of some sort.

“You can always get another one-” The captain tries, feeling his patience wavering.

“They don’t sell original Kami7 merch anymore!” Nishinoya exclaims frustratedly. Sighing, Ennoshita massages the bridge of his nose. He turns to the rest of the team.

“And you guys are okay with this?”

The baby crows merely stare up at him blankly and shrug with varying levels of ascent.

“Fine. The MKU38 poster stays. But we’re cleaning the sports store next.”

It earns some groaning and moaning. But at the end of the day, everyone agrees it had been a somewhat fair trade-off.

> 6\. On the morning of graduation, the mist is thick.

It had rained the previous night. The air still smells of it. Crisp and heavy. He takes a deep breath, feels the moisture fill his lungs. It feels good. The wind on his skin and the slight sting of his palms against the handles of his bicycle is nice too.

It is still dark as he makes his way down the first valley. He is suddenly reminded of the night time travels that had been twice as long as his usual ones, coming from the opposite direction of the Shiratorizawa grounds. It had been a particularly cold winter.

This journey feels nothing like those ones. Instead, it feels exactly like the ones on a match day. Those days where he’s up particularly early because the bus is right around the corner and they’ve got a long ride ahead of them. 

There’s the second dip coming and another climb before he’s winding through town. The sky is purple now. He stops at the bakery beside the florist, the one with the nice melon buns and takes a bite before nestling it in his bag.

The sky is orange now. His blood is pumping. He is looking nowhere but forward.

> 7\. He’s gotten used to the sand between his toes.

It used to bother him how no matter how much he washed his feet after practice, there would still be grains stuck on his skin. Now it’s just a vaguely ticklish sensation that wears off as he takes off around the city to one eatery or another. 

The sun isn’t as blistering as it was. Or, he’s just learned how to deal with it better. He spends a good portion of his savings on sunscreen. He learns, rather belatedly, that it doesn’t stop him from tanning. More to do with skin cancer apparently. Also, putting on so much doesn’t do much but weird people out into thinking he’s a ghost before it melts into his pores over the hours.

Pedro talks more when they’re talking about anime or when they’re drinking. Usually, it’s a mixture of both. He usually collapses after two bottles (or three episodes of Dragon Ball). Hinata’s gotten used to the taste of sugar cane liquor. It was a little too sweet at first, but it goes well with most foods. He’s learned to appreciate its sugary aftertaste.

He’s also learned to appreciate Rio a lot more now. Its twinkling villages dotting the hills. The bustle of the city center. The friendly passersby who throw back a stray ball. The pickup games with that grandpa who brings his grandkids to the beach thrice a week.

He admires the sun, the wind and most of all, the sand.

He likes the feeling of crushed stone between his toes, kicking up a flurry behind him as he takes off to spike a ball against the course of a strong breeze.

> 8\. Bus rides are nothing new.

Sure, there’s Bokuto’s headphones at 120% and Atsumu loudly demanding an UNO rematch. But, Hinata thinks with a small smile, it’s all a little familiar. Sometimes, as he drifts off to sleep on a particularly long journey, he thinks he can hear Daichi telling them to eat a banana or Yachi reminding them about their shoes.

His head lolls to one side, and when he wakes up with a start, he is a little disappointed he isn’t drooling all over Kageyama’s shoulder. Instead, it is the window or the headrest.

But that is sometimes.

Most times, he doesn’t sleep. He wins at UNO and fails fantastically at Bluff. He tries to figure out what song is blasting through Bokuto’s headphones. And when he does fall asleep, he wakes up to Sakusa nudging him with a look of distaste, rolling his eyes. He grins. _Sorry ‘bout that._

The nice hotels are new. He gets a room to himself sometimes and forgets that the minibar isn’t free and panics through his wallet.

But the ride back is the same. Maybe the bus is nicer, is all.

> 9\. The smell of a new jersey is one of his favourite things in the world.

The sound of opening the plastic wrapper is also one of those things. Then along with that, is holding it up and just looking at it for a while.

He remembers a young green one.

Then, black and orange and orange and black.

Then, black and gold.

He holds this one up to the light. Letting the rays of the stadium lights pass through it, the badge on his heart glows white and red. It’s like holding a piece of burning ember.

It is red. Red like when you cover your eyes from the sun with your hands and the edges of your fingers turn strangely transluscent. Like the pillars of a torii gate. Like the sky when you finish practice early and manage to catch the sun setting.

Except smack in the middle of it is a number burning brighter than anything else, a pristine white. 

_Hinata. 10_.

> 10\. When Kageyama sets to him, his body moves of its own accord.

It is a split second, that burst of energy. One that shoots through his veins and explodes in his brain as instinct. But it’s not pure instinct, no, he knows what he’s doing now.

He doesn’t close his eyes anymore. His eyes are very much open. And he sees it then, that opening, that tiny window of oppurtunity. Where the tips of the blocker’s fingers catch the light but he’s already above them, aiming for the space between the libero and the out line.

He swings his arm forward, feeling a gust of wind from his own hand.

He lands with a thud as the ball slams against the floor from the opposite end of the net. He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when he sees the opposing blockers narrow their eyes at him.

He locks eyes with Kageyama then, holding out a hand, slowly balling it into a fist.

Their knuckles naturally fit into place and so do they.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on twt @nnanakomatsus


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